Oh Mummy!: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Wonky Inn Book 14) by Jeannie Wycherley

Author:Jeannie Wycherley [Wycherley, Jeannie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bark at the Moon Books
Published: 2022-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

“Hooo ooh! Hoo ooh!”

It was the following morning and Mr Hoo was lamenting the cold. Spring was just around the corner, apparently, but you’d never have known it in the office. I had donned a pair of old fingerless gloves and wrapped the colourful scarf that Millicent had knitted for me around my neck, but even so, I could have happily added another layer or three of quilts or woollen blankets.

“You’ll have to put a jumper on,” I reminded him.

“Hooo?” Of course he didn’t have one. “Tuh-wit.”

“I could ask Millicent to knit you one.”

The rumble of a heavy diesel engine drifted in through the open window, coming closer judging by the incremental increase in volume. I glanced up, but my view through the window was impeded by the crates and boxes that had been moved in here over the past few hours, and I could barely see the top of the curtain rail, let alone outside into the real world.

The inn was a hive of activity. George had ‘released’ the archaeology crew on their own cognisance, which meant that some of them would be leaving today. Cue much cleaning of bedrooms and shedloads of laundry, taxis to-ing and fro-ing and lots of heavy feet thundering up and down the stairs when people remembered they hadn’t packed their phone charger or their toothbrush.

I’d said a few goodbyes, electing not to return to the dig site with them after all. This being the last possible day of my retreat, I decided to draw a line under it and go back to doing something that I was good at. Yes, innkeeping! Being moaned at by all and sundry is an innkeeper’s lot. Being moaned at by all and sundry day after day while getting muddy, lashed by the winds off the sea and the torrential rain, and ruining your fingernails while not being able to stop for a tea break whenever you fancied one? I was done with that.

I’d be especially sad to say goodbye to Zara. She’d be sharing a taxi to the train station in Honiton with several of our now ex-colleagues, all going in different directions, while others headed home to Exeter or back to Gallows Meadow. I’d miss folk, but we could always stay in touch.

The diesel engine pulled up outside the front of the inn and I frowned in its direction. Something that big and heavy had to be a delivery truck, but we didn’t accept deliveries at the front door unless they were for guests. All food and drink were brought in at the back. Tutting, I resumed work on my spreadsheet, trying to reconcile balances with my bank account. Whatever was going on down there, Charity would sort it out.

A few minutes later, realising I needed a reading printed out from one of the tills, I escaped my office and dashed down the back stairs, past The Snug and The Nook, and burst through into the bar.

“Coo-eee!” said a familiar voice, and I pulled up short.

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